It happened again. A deer in the surf and a dozen people crowding the shore. The last time, the deer drowned. This morning it’s an outgoing tide and I was repeatedly called a “b—” (and other things) for shouting “Back off!” at the top of my voice. I am so mean.
[Have no fear reading on. No one dies in this story.]
Yesterday was the 49th anniversary of our wedding. Gary and I were married under the pagoda tree in my parents’ backyard. We wrote our vows, a friends officiated, I made the wedding cake, a fruit cake, from a 100-year-old recipe, Joyce brought lasagna, The Chieftains sang on a record, and my dad toasted us from Shakespeare as his “warrior children”.
Our anniversary rings, more about goldsmithing, the Hood to Coast relay, and my preferred running conditions.
Continue readingTemperatures rose well over 100° in Portland yesterday (105-107°) but we are at the coast, and I am reminded of why my mother’s childhood was spent at the beach in her great aunts’ home. Portland is hotter in summer and colder in winter, and now the heat is higher. Temperatures here are stabilized by proximity to ocean. During the past forty-four years we have gone entire winters without frost, enjoyed summers with temperatures that never rose over 70° (that has changed). There was no electricity or running water during my mother’s childhood at the shore in the 1920s and 1930s, and the house was surrounded by mature spruce. Now we are surrounded by rental home.
Last night we were fussing about a daytime high in the eighties and the internet being slow.
Times change.
Other weather has changed, but ordinary standards of behavior are changed. Bragging to someone about violation, bragging that we could commit an act of violence without altering voter loyalty, threatening violence—these are the acts of schoolyard bullies writ large. In my mother’s lifetime, such behavior on the part of a public person in America was unthinkable. In my own youth, even accusations of such behavior was enough to force resignation and shame.
Times change.
Rocks, cougars, the Tortilla Race, ordering online, and typos.
Continue readingAs of a couple of hours ago, Margaret and Helen is back. I agree with a recent comment: “Welcome back. So sorry you need to be here.”
What the hell is wrong with the Republican Party? I mean, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me for three indictments and 78 felony counts… and we haven’t even heard from the Georgia DA yet. Surely I am not the only fat lady dying to sing.
—MargaretandHelen.com
Helen Philpot is a determined old lady who won’t stand for nonsense. She’s funny, smart, and right. Today she explains why “Trump is a hemorrhoid.”
Thank you, Helen. I missed you like crazy!
Today is the 70th anniversary of the end of the 1950-1953 Korean War, one of the first international conflicts of the Cold War era.
—CNN’s 5 Things
Right there: “Korean War.” It was studiously called a “police action” when I was a girl. No war was declared and we were corrected if we slipped and referred to it as a war.
Continue readingLocals mostly hate the Fourth of July. Too many people, loose dogs, and illegal fireworks going off at all hours. During my run this morning, a dog charged me, barking deeply, and the owner didn’t even apologize. But also a great many brown pelicans, sand all the way around Hug Point, and Gary built a fort. Some bad news, but good food. Education.
I’m waiting till 6:30 to go for my run so that we can stop at New Seasons on the way home to pick up tomatoes and avocados. Maybe cheese.
The sky is absolutely clear overhead—faintly aqua to pale gold around the edges with strands of pink clouds east of the city. Windows wide open. My coffee within reach. Gary reading news on his phone in the other room.
Imagine I am an ordinary citizen. When I take a government job, I swear to serve my country and uphold the law. When I leave that job a couple of years ago, I take my personal possessions with me, packed in cardboard boxes.
Imagine the Records Office discovers hundreds of documents are missing from my former place of work and that I am accused of taking secret documents with me when I left.
Continue readingAs I type, the night zombie is in the street screaming to no one: “Keep your opinions to yourself!” It is 6:35am and as he turns a corner, two blocks away now, the voice fades to where I can no longer make out his words. At least in the city, the dogs are mostly leashed.
Roses, submission, knitting, and Scottish Deerhounds in the park.
